


Burning Door

by SarcasticMusician



Series: When Things Get Too Real [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Maggie has a lot of thoughts, Maggie's got her girls, Mother's Day, angst-ish, not relationship wise, plays off of the Maggie's outing backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticMusician/pseuds/SarcasticMusician
Summary: She's not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I totally understand if you don't like this, it's a bit different from what I usually post. Basically, Maggie's outing was way too close to my own and yeah...had to process. I swear Maggie is me, and I've been stalked for the last ten years. 
> 
> Shout out to AceCop15 for being a trooper and letting me rant about my experience when things got too difficult writing this.

She never wonders. Not really.

The days of wondering, of not believing, _not understanding_ , are gone. She doesn’t need to understand. There’s nothing _to_ understand.

Or, rather, nothing that could be understood.

Far too many nights had been spent staring at the ceiling; Nights which inevitably turned into days spent, chin-up, willing herself to continue. To work hard. To get out. To not cry.

_Well, cry but not at school. Never at- Wait, okay, cry, but only in the stall. Cry, but not loud. Cry, but don’t let it show. Cry, but don’t draw attention._

_Cry, but cry alone._

Four years. She had four years to cry, four years to wonder, four years to not understand.

So, no.

She never wonders anymore, not really.

Not until tonight.

The pain of lonely Christmases, birthdays, Mother’s Days, Father’s Days- they began to blend together years ago. She always takes the shifts, always makes sure she has the shifts. _It helps a bit._ The distraction is always welcome, as well as the gratitude from her coworkers who do have people to be with, to brunch with on Easter, to go ice skating with on New Year’s, to- Well, they have people to call their _own_.

So, she takes the shifts, has at every precinct she’s worked. And sometimes she does think, sometimes she wonders when she’ll have that, too. When she’ll have people.

But she never wonders about them, about the ones who turned their backs on her at thirteen. She never wonders about seeing them again. Those thoughts lie abandoned, left behind on her aunt’s couch the day she ran. Left to mare the halls she had rushed down, slurs showing her how a punch could feel long before she ever suffered a physical blow.

She takes the shifts each year. Makes sure she has them.

Except, today.

Today, she had made sure she was free.

Mother’s day.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. The sting hasn’t numbed, no. But, with each year it seems to calm. What once was a sharp knife, cold and piercing, is now a burning door in her mind. It lights when the calendar in the break room is flipped to May. When the generic flowers it depicts burn into her mind, because she can’t look, she _really_ can’t look and see the day it marks. But she knows. She does. Because…

Jane, in holding, is excited for her first Mother’s Day as a mom.

Bill, two desks down, wants to know what color flowers to get his mother-in-law.

Robin, the secretary, is having her sons fly up.

And Maggie, Maggie is locking the burning door again.

She can’t get rid of the door. Therapy has taught her that. But, she can choose whether to open the door, to let in the hurt, or keep it closed and wait for the flames to die down to a simmer until the next holiday brings with it another lit match. She used to open it, would hope a quick a peak would be worth the burn.

Just a memory of her mom, just a quick peak at the Christmas they chopped down their own tree, or the birthday she got her first bike. But the flames don’t listen. They spread. The door may open just a crack, but her mind would go up in flames.

The smiles turn all too quickly into the frowns and cold-eyed glares she had come home to that February day. The good memories go up in smoke, the breathing in of this destruction choking tears from her eyes as if the smoke were real.

So, no. She never opens that door. She never lets herself wonder. There’s nothing to understand.

This year, she locks the door again. She tries to cover it with cement and sheer power of will, because, no. No, she will not let them ruin this for her. She will not let them ruin this day for Alex, for Kara, for Eliza. They’re in the past and maybe, _hopefully_ , this is her future.

She doesn’t expect much. She never has. But, Alex has a way of exceeding all of her expectations.

Maybe she shouldn’t be so shocked.

Waking up is different. Her eyes don’t snap open, body moving to start the day before her mind can think, can remember, can near the burning door. No. Instead, she wakes slowly. The arms wrapped around her body hold her steady, the warmth surrounding her keeping her mind far away from the flames.

“Morning, babe.” Is whispered into her ear seconds after Alex’s breathing changes

“Morning.” She replies, shuffling in Alex’s arms before greeting her with a kiss

And if the kiss seems to tamp down some of the flames, well Maggie’s decided not to wonder.

They make their way to Kara’s around noon. One hand holds Alex’s secure her grip, while the other does it’s best not drop the grocery bag it holds.

“Are you sure you want to-”

Maggie’s sigh stalls Alex’s whispered concern. Meeting her caring eyes as the elevator ascends, Maggie tries for a smile.

“I’ll be okay.” A hand squeeze. A slightly too fast blink. “I want to be here with you. With all of you.” A pause.

She can feel the heat from the flames.

Maybe it’s something in her eyes, maybe it shows, because within an instant the flames are miles away. The warmth of Alex’s embrace, the clatter of the falling bags Alex had held, the chuckle she lets out at her dork of a girlfriend who can fight four aliens one handed but apparently needs all hands free to hug her, act as a shield, as a balm.

When the doors open on Kara’s floor, Maggie pulls Alex in tighter. Forcing herself to pull away, she steadies a smile on her face before quickly throwing a hand out to keep the doors from closing.

Alex wants to say something, wants to ask again, she knows. Alex’s eyes say it all and so much more. They show her love, her happiness, and her pain. Her pain for Maggie. And maybe it shouldn’t, maybe it’s wrong, but that pain, _Alex’s pain_ , that’s not something she can ignore.

Alex deserves happy Valentine’s Days and nervous meet the parents weekends. She deserves to be accepted into a family and, and, Maggie lets herself be mad about that. _Mad_ that Alex won’t get that. She lets herself feel the sting of hurt and if she tells herself it’s all for Alex _(it is for Alex, isn’t it?)_ what does it matter?

She shakes her head and makes a comment about hurrying before Kara uses her vision and thinks the worst of their position in the middle of two spilt bags and a wayward cantaloupe attempting to roll from the cart.

> _“We’re sorry-”_
> 
> _“I use that elevator, Alex!”_
> 
> _“What do you want us to do?”_
> 
> _“Go back to last night and keep it in your pants for-”_
> 
> _“Technically-”_
> 
> _“Maggie.” A glare._
> 
> _“I’m just saying, technically we did keep it in out pants…so to speak.”_
> 
> _And Maggie thought Alex could blush, she has nothing on Kara’s reddening face._

Twenty minutes later finds them sitting across from Eliza and Kara as they dig into their lunch. The flaming door came nearer and nearer throughout the day. Each hug, each ‘I love you’, each ‘I remember when-’, brought it just that much closer.

But-

But, it is different.

The flames, they’re duller. Present but blocked. Present but….balmed?

The pang of smoke doesn’t have her choking on tears, the warmth of the fire doesn’t have her tense nor overwhelmed. Then it becomes clear, the door is on fire -it will always be on fire- but, she’s not alone.

A glance around the table shows her what the door, what her mind, what the others, already knew.

She was not alone. Not in the world. Not in her head. Not again.

Alex’s hand never leaves her. The fact stands out as Maggie watches the woman attempt to butter her bread one handed as the other is steady on her thigh.

She follows her love’s laughing gaze as it leads her to Kara. The perky blonde, who has so quickly become a little sister to her, bounces in her chair while speaking between concerningly large bites. Their eyes meet for a moment, as Kara’s story flows on. The warmth of her gaze seems to replace the blaze of the fire. The ever-present flames’ heat lessened by the comfort of Kara’s presence.

Eliza’s the last to catch her attention.

And there’s something. There’s something in the smile she sends her. There’s something in the enthusiasm of her hugs, something in the relief in her eyes. Something that tells her she’s welcomed. Something that tells her she’s wanted.

She can see it, now. The flaming door standing before her, just as molten and ominous as it has for the last fifteen years. Before the flames can strengthen, before she can get stuck staring into them, Alex’s hand wraps around her waist keeping her steady, keeping her safe. She regains her strength, legs -tired from years of standing- relax as she leans against Alex’s side.

As she takes comfort in Alex.

The heat from the flames, is muted. The Kara in her mind stepping between Maggie and the burning door. A smiling barrier blocking the majority of the heat, blocking the majority of its sting. For the first time in years, Maggie’s breath isn’t choked as she faces the door. Not choked as she stares into the wound. Not choked as she takes comfort in this.

As she takes comfort in Kara.

The power of the door lessens slowly as Eliza trails in with a canteen. The water isn’t much, but what is, is a start. What it is, is a step. What it is, is progress. What it is, is comfort. Maggie finds herself feeling the flames weaken as she takes in the presence of Eliza.

As she takes comfort in Eliza.

If her silence is noted, the others make valiant efforts not to show it. The smile on her face is genuine as she steps back from the burning door, back to reality, back to the room with her family.

The women seem to brighten as they are met with Maggie’s dimpled smile one by one.

The door will always be her past -the flames can be tamed, the door locked- the door will never disappear. But, here, now? She knows she can move forward, knows she can fight the burning door, with her people.

With her family.


End file.
